


The Mess You've Made Of Your Own Mind

by NothingxRemains



Series: Trying to Rewind [1]
Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: A handful of characters are mentioned, Angst, Character Analysis, Character Development, Depression, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gender-Neutral Frisk, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Mental Instability, One Shot, POV Frisk, POV Sans, Panic Attacks, Spoilers, Temporary Character Death, Undertale Genocide Route, Undertale Pacifist Route, but its really just Sans and Frisk, probably, soo much angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-05
Updated: 2016-11-05
Packaged: 2018-08-29 07:10:52
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,073
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8480248
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NothingxRemains/pseuds/NothingxRemains
Summary: "Think we'll ever get out of here?"
(Focuses on Frisks mental state as they traverse the underground, with some Sans flare.)





	

**Author's Note:**

> Follows canon for the most part. Its basically every run through the game except for the true pacifist ending. 
> 
> I was inspired while listening to "All the Things She Said - T.a.t.u." I was listening to Icon For Hire while writing it, thus the title from their song "Pieces."
> 
> This is mostly me psychoanalysing Frisk's mental progression during their time in the underground, stringing theories together here and there, trying to go for a realistic perspective. I read through it a couple times but its unbeta'd so sorry for any mistakes.

_They staggered through the Ruins doors, filling their lungs with the biting cold of Snowdin Forest.  They could feel eyes on their back as the raced down the path, desperation painting their cheeks and snow crunching underfoot in time with their heart beat. How many times had they done this? How many times had they looked her in the face as she stared them down, how many times had they failed? They stumbled over the branch and their breath stuttered as thunder crackled behind them, a scream building in their lungs that they had no air to fuel._

_They collapsed a few feet from the bridge, still constricted to the same song and dance despite their efforts to rewrite the script. The slow footfalls like the echoes of bones crunching._

_Memories flooded their mind; split second agony, a malicious smile, the sickening stench of their own charred flesh._

_They stared down at their legs, longer than when they’d started this. Their tolerance to the time skips didn’t restrict itself to their consciousness, their body betraying how much time had really passed._

How small had they been when they’d first landed in that bed of flowers? Barely taller than the flower. Years they’d spent with Toriel, learning the warmth a loving mother could offer. Content to know kindness from everyone they met, to experience a facsimile of normality baking pies and picking flowers and learning puzzles and exploring every inch of their world. But.

But.

Reality had crept in. Toriel’s daily trip to the end of the Ruins; the spider’s stories of their cousins trapped somewhere deeper in the mountain; books that spoke of war and freedom, of a king and a barrier; the sadness on the edges of their mother’s face when she looked at them, her overbearing caution no matter how often they tried to prove their capableness.

_“H u m a n.”_

They had the answer to everything. They had sat and thought for a long time before they remembered how all the monsters had attacked them when they first wandered through the underground. They had scrabbled information and evidence and put the pieces together. Humans were the real Monsters. But they could save everyone, couldn’t they?

Determination flared in their chest as they thought of Toriel’s face, time and time again, full of love, denied the sun and stars and all the things they wanted to give her, locked in this prison of a mountain.

_“ T u r n a r o u n d.”_

_Frisk drew themselves to their feet, unable to suppress the shiver that crawled down their spine as they turned to meet Sans’s empty eye sockets_.

Yeah, at least they had someone to remind them of all their sins, couldn’t lie to themselves to feel better while they stared into his unforgiving face and remembered Papyrus’s scarf fluttering to the ground covered in dust, the sound of his skull hitting the snow with a dull thump seconds before it disintegrated. It seemed strange sometimes, how in this storm of madness and terror they reined that he’d become their anchor.

It was different for everyone else; when they faced down Undyne they remembered her spears tearing through their body, of Asgore’s trident piercing their soul while he turned away in shame. When they looked into the skeleton’s face they thought about how they grinded Undyne’s dust into the dirt as her armor clattered to the ground, Gerson’s hardened gaze, the silence that echoed through the underground as the dust of countless settled behind them.

_Bony fingers settled on their shoulder, innocuously void of gag tricks. They drew out of their thoughts as the air shifted around them, softly illuminated darkness filling their vision. Sans guided them gently to lay down, the grass rustling and warm against their icy skin._

\--

_“Easy, kid. Come on, look at me.”_

They took turns falling apart, him and the kid, struggling against the weight of hopelessness in the endless cycle. Sans ran his fingers through their tangled hair, caressed their shoulders soothingly. He could see it in their face, the lost look in their eyes as they acted without thought, memories of every mistake, every failure haunting their thoughts. Time was allowed to pass each time Frisk broke down.  Sometimes looking at him and bursting into tears, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” falling from their lips until their voice grew hoarse and they passed out from exhaustion. Sometimes they would sit and lean against the doors of the ruins and stare off into nothing until he picked them up out of the snow and carried them home, catatonic, chewing and swallowing food he forced into their mouth on autopilot as they stared through him with unseeing eyes for days on end. After the first time that happened he resorted to keeping them in his room rather than on the couch so Papyrus wouldn’t worry.

He’d hated them for a long time. He hated the way they kept resetting, never satisfied, watching time pass as the tally marks in his notes added up, as their hair grew longer and they grew taller and eventually showed up in different clothes because their striped sweater and shorts from the surface didn’t fit anymore. So many times they’d done the same thing over and over again, making friends with everyone and exploring every option only to go back and do it all again. He could see desperation slowly overtaking them every time they reset. He had begun to understand, they were looking for a happy ending that they might live to see.

( “Why? You’re trying so hard to do this. Why not just let him do it?”

“…

…she’s already lost too much. I can’t do that to her.” )

_Sans tapped Frisk’s cheek gently, waiting patiently as their eyes finally focused on his face, expression softening as they searched for hate and judgment in his gaze. “Hey bud, you with me?” A halted nod. “Come on kid, get outta that head o’ yours, it’s no good for ya,” he said softly. No response. He sighed and lay down next to them, shoulders pressed together as they both turned their eyes to the crystals twinkling on the ceiling. “Why don’t you sing that song? Could really use it right now.” A long pause. And then, quietly, a melody emanated from them, buzzing in their throat as Frisk hummed the lullaby they’d often heard playing from the statue in Waterfall._

He had begun to forget what hate felt like, watching them carry on like they were losing a fight against destiny, searching for an answer that wasn’t there. He’d found out later that the kid had reset a few times before he could find Papyrus’s remains in the sodden snow, didn't notice all the accidental and not so accidental kills until they’d carved through half the underground with dead eyes and an empty smile that stretched their sunken cheeks.

How many times had he killed them? How many times did they reset and do it all again and meet his merciless assault head on, before they’d finally collapsed by the save point at the end of the hall and didn’t get up again? A broken sound poured out of their throat that alternated between sobs and laughter while he stood at the other end and looked on. Hours passed before the sounds died out, and silence reigned. Rage had burned out a while ago, leaving only exhaustion and resignation behind. He waited.

“…I can’t do it. I can’t do it. I can’t give up, I have to, have to. I’m trying I’m trying I’m trying to, to, t—“ a quiet sob. “Please please _please_ I can’t I can’t. I love you, I’m sorry, god I’m so sorry.” Sans stayed quiet. He held his ground, but the pieces started to slide together as Frisk’s quiet voice filled the hall, crying out to someone that wasn't there, burning into his mind. It took him a while to notice when silence had come back. He finally wandered closer, slumped down against the pillar closest to them, stared down at the tiles and waited some more. It was quiet for a long time.

The world reset.

Anxiety gripped him as he waited for those doors to open again. He flipped between several emotions as more time went by--dread, resignation, worry, confusion, impatience; two months passed before they finally opened again, and he was almost surprised.

The kid shuffled into the snow, slowly ambling down the path, sullen but calm. It was jarring to realize, that every time before they’d carried on with enthusiasm, determined, even frenzied with emotion. They were a little taller now, even with the slumped way they walked, a little pale, not looking as well as they had the first time they’d come through but not as a mess as the last few times he'd seen them, sleep deprived and starved half to death and driving themself insane.  They didn’t look up from their feet, pausing briefly at the branch. After a moment they turned and walked around it instead of stepping over it, continuingupon steadily until they reached the bridge.

They jumped when he made his entrance, like somehow they’d forgotten it, forgotten him. Their face was blank as they turned to look at him, as if they didn’t know how to feel. They didn’t say anything, completely ignoring his words and outstretched hand and instead holding out their own, to his confusion. He looked down at their hand. In it was a small plastic knife, the blade wrapped in a red ribbon knotted in place at the handle.

Words would do nothing at this point, they knew that, so they hadn’t tried, instead trying to show their intentions in the only way they could think of: handing over the knife, giving him the reigns. A few seconds passed where neither of them moved.

“…killing me again isn’t gonna do anything, although I’ll let you if it will make you feel better,” they said quietly, gaze on the ground. He considered them, feeling the apprehension he saw mirrored in their face.

They jerked up a little when he took the knife from them, accepting their entreaty.  He tapped their chest with the fabric covered point of it, and the small flinch told him they’d been expecting another merciless death. In the back of his mind satisfaction rang grim and hollow. He considered his words for a moment.

“Kid, I’m gonna be straight with you; I’m exhausted. I don’t like you, I don’t think I ever will. I’m gonna trust you, because there’s nothing else I can do except keep kill you until you give up.” They nodded slowly. “Now, how about you start by telling me everything.”

\--

That was how he’d learned that Frisk had spent four years with Toriel after first falling into the underground. How their determination was driven by their love for her, to make her happy, to give her everything. They had spent a year with her before they tried to see what was beyond the doors; they pushed too far and she killed them and everything had erased itself, and she remembered nothing of all the time they’d spent together, of murdering them. They had spent the next three years resolved to never do it again, until they could no longer ignore the way everyone suffered, and began to understand that this place was not a home but a prison, a shameful reminder of what they’d lost. They’d hugged her and looked up into her sad eyes and her sad smile and decided that they would save her, if it was the last thing they did. (Save points had popped up after that, fluctuating in frequency depending on the strength of their resolve.)

So they worked together, pooling their knowledge together and picking apart every little detail, trying everything they could think of to break the barrier without anybody dying. A year had passed since the day they made an alliance, six since they first fell into the underground. Frisk was twelve.

_Sans joined in half way through the song, deep baritone harmonizing with their mezzo soprano. They fell quiet after a minute and he carried on by himself for a little while, until his thoughts failed and the tune eluded him once more._

_“Think we’ll ever get out of here?” Silence answered him. He chuckled humorlessly. “Yeah.” He sighed. “That’s what I thought.”_

**Author's Note:**

> The end gave me a little trouble so sorry if the end is a little abrupt. I think I might write a sequel? Of Frisk finally finding the true pacifist ending, or maybe just more from Frisk's perspective from their time in the underground. It will most likely be a string of one-shots, seeing as whenever I try anything bigger I never finish it.


End file.
